


L.A Trash

by RahSunsgod



Series: As in love as you can [1]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Angst, M/M, i'm a horrible human being
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-29 23:00:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17817170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RahSunsgod/pseuds/RahSunsgod
Summary: Nijimuro always hid something, Himuro knew that. He also knew that he shouldn't have been surprised when he left.





	L.A Trash

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, English is not my first language. I make a lot of mistakes.

He was nice, some kind of good boy following enough rules to be consider good but enough to be consider slightly bad. He had a thing, Tatsuya doesn't know what exactly, that would make anyone tremble and he was not the exception. As soon as he saw him, upper-class kinda guy, walking oh so gracefully, something just crack inside him, slowly filling him with a warm adrenaline I knew very well.  
It was in a park in LA and Nijimura was smoking carelessly, apparently unaware of his own deadly presence. But Himuro noticed him right away, the way you notice a firework, suddenly and brutally, all at once, colorful but a little frightening, and he loved it, he loved every second he spend looking at him from the bench, watching him move around like a lost puppy would but, of course, even if Nijimura Shuuzou was a lot of things, he wasn't a lost puppy.  
He thought it would be easy, and it was in a weird way. Getting close with him was similar to sell his soul to the devil, consuming and eventually dangerous, the perks were almost none but they worth the consequences that would follow, or that was what Himuro thought at first. Talking to him was a strange experience, an unease feeling on his stomach coming up to his mouth he could not help but adore. There was something there, in Nijimura's voice which felt empty, like something was missing but even like that Himuro felt extremely complete in there, every time he said his name, every little shallow smile, moment by moment, he ate him entirely and somehow transforming into a puppet without will, just moving, just rotating around him, pretending to still be an independent person.  
He wasn't like that before, some pretty toy boy for a guy to use. Nevertheless, with Nijimura was something different, a strong force pulling him into the dark universe that existed deep down the rabbit hole of his wet dreams and soul-sucking nightmares. This boy, this boy of his, was going to leave him soon and he knew that, but at some point of the summer he started to forget it.  
Maybe was the smile Nijimura gave him the day they met, not distant but not quite close, it replay inside his head, his perfume coming back to his lungs like an alternative to getting high, his hands touching his body like a treasure he found on the ocean. He thought he was important. Nijimura Shuuzou made him believed he was important.  
They spend the summer coming and going from the beach, walking around with their hands taken, giving kisses on the coffee shop and fucking in Nijimura's apartment. They fucked a lot. And that was probably the first sign: the way in Shuuzou just covered up the silence and personal questions with sex, mouns and screams.  
He never let him drive the car, Himuro thought, it was vintage and cool and fast, the older one was carefull and considered every living thing a possible danger to his precious car. But it's not that what he remembered, he remembered the way Nijimura jumped nervously every time he dared to get near the glove box, the furious way he closed it again with one hand in a violent move and his eyes, burning in flames, falling in him like an animal full of rage. Even with that, he never said anything, he never asked him what he was hiding, what was even more value than the precious car.  
Himuro asked himself, when the moment came, how was possible he was so goddamn stupid. 

............

\- Do you think you could stay a little longer?- Tatsuya asked one day, in a low tone and deep down hoping the older one wouldn't hear him  
\- I could ask, I suppose- He shrugged his shoulders and looked at him  
\- It would be nice- the younger one laughed- unless there is someone waiting for you at home.  
\- Of course not.  
Nijimura laughed too, peacefully, and the calm Himuro had in his chest remained in there, growing up, getting bigger and bigger without fear.  
He asked himself, alone in the dark, if he was lying, if there was in fact someone waiting him at home, someone who was more loved, more wanted, if that someone was the owner of Nijimura's careful heart, if he returned to gave himself to the someone who had been there way before he did.  
He should've known, he carried too many secrets inside his body, Himuro was able to felt them under his hands, in his lips, in the poison that came out of his guts and got into his mouth. He should've known after that fucking phone call he answered, first so confidently in from of him and then nervously in the kitchen, a room apart from him.  
They were in his apartment, with the lights on and dinning without t-shirts, they laughed and talked and stared at each other. He was as close to happy as he could be, living of the promises and half truths that came out of the older one's mouth, the bad jokes, the carefully selected insult: "LA trash" he used to called him when he said something so American that was ridiculous.  
His phone rang loud and he answered with a smile that faded so much faster than it came.  
\- What's going on?- Himuro heard him talk, peeped through the half open door of the kitchen- No, of course I am...it's just...-Nijimura trembled a little and shakes his head- I didn't thought you would call, I mean...I thought you would call sooner-he saw him put his back on the wall and covered his eyes with his free hand- Of course you did- he laughed- When?...That's in two days...Oh so you just call to let me know? That's funny- he sigh, tiredly- Okay then...yeah, okay. Bye.  
He hang up and sat in the floor, with his cellphone on his hand. Himuro should've known he was going to leave.

............

\- Who was it?- he asked smiling  
\- My mom- Nijimura answered- My dad won a stuffed chicken on a fair...It was too dumb for you to hear...sorry.  
\- It's okay  
In various opportunities Himuro has asked himself how many times he lied as brutally as that time. This question walks behind him, following everywhere because he can't understand why.  
Nijimura made a gesture for him to come and sit on his lap, always smiling in his own dark way, always with his hands on the right places. He sometimes remembered how he never touched his face for more than two seconds, the way the emptiness filled him when He obeyed, walking slowly towards him and kissing him hard, hard as he left what he still had of dignity and self love, as he totally forgot what the feeling of being alone and scared and easily replace had covered him just a couple of minutes before.  
Nijimura let him feel the goodbye even if he never said it, even if he pretended not to noticed. He said goodbye, maybe without realizing he was doing it.  
He throw him to the bed carefully but something in him broke as he was push against the sheets, a broken little porcelain doll lying on the cold bed, under the hands of a man who felt like a stranger and he, with his mouth biting his shoulder, was limited to be a ghost of his own love story. Love story is probably the worst way to describe what happened.  
\- You're so beautiful- Nijimura whispered into his ear, and as soon as he did, Himuro thought in the previous lie, in the casual smile made to convince him to low the walls that are left inside him. There is nothing worst than a broken heart when the cause is still there, above you, making you take the blame as he slowly slides away, and even he wanted to pretend, he did what he did with no care whatsoever.  
Words were meaningless, coming out of his mouth and crawling inside his body like he's nothing but an ornament he tried to make believe it was something else for way too long. Himuro saw himself breaking into pieces of glass as Nijimura did to him what he wanted. It was almost satisfactory, in a sick way, the sex kind of made him forget what he felt in the moment, the pain replace with pleasure and the tears going back into his eyes like nothing happened. He played pretend a little more.

He woke up in a cold lonely bed, as he knew he would, still with that "knowing" the feeling was the same, hard and destroying and painfully nailed inside his heart, turning him into pieces.  
He remembered how Nijimura's bags were always well packed, ready to leave, ready to run even if he lived there almost a year, he thought in how useful probably was for him, when early in the morning, maybe still half sleep he danced away from him in the most careful silence he had ever heard.  
His breath stirred, if that could be called breathing, the shaky hands looking for a cellphone in the dark morning, the cold air making his back hurt. He felt dead, but so full of rage he had to be alive. He started crying soon after, sitting on the floor next to a bed that stunk of his perfume.  
For the next two days he called, and called, and called, almost every hour, crying, still sitting besides the bed. Like a lost child. Asking himself if he really was just a L.A trash.


End file.
